


Deep End

by LetsReWriteTheHappyEnding



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25353142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsReWriteTheHappyEnding/pseuds/LetsReWriteTheHappyEnding
Summary: "Childhood memories are sometimes covered and obscured beneath the things that come later, like childhood toys forgotten at the bottom of a crammed adult closet, but they are never lost for good."
Relationships: Carl Grimes/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	Deep End

There are days I remember silly things. Or days where I can fill the emptiness in me, and I think about how it wasn’t like this.

Walking the long road to a unknown destination, I see the empty fields and broken fences, and it makes ti me think about before. Walking with a boy and his father, both glad to have me with them, I was his childhood friend.

The friend who lived next door. The friend that was more like family. I was the friend who punched the second grade bully in defense, and wore my discipline form with pride. The friend who knew how to make them all smile.

It was the friendship with the idea backstory. Everyone made jokes about growing up and us being stuck like glue. Jokes about Beavis and Butthead were common and the sense that senior year would be the recreating of kindergarten photos.

And it makes a tingle begin. The stomach that hasn’t has food for days greedily expects the idea that there is feelings in me. But then I become aware that I have stopped.

And I’m now staring at the fence, a ghost of a smile hinting. Pushing. Hope.

But I’m aware that it’s stupid and they are probably dead. Or walking around moaning. And if they are alive, who is to say that he’s still the sweet boy, or his father still carries the idea of honor on his chest. And that his mother still smiles brightly.

Maybe he traded in the shy blush for the reputation of the second grade bully. His father handed in the honor but kept the gun. Perhaps the mother handed in the kind smile for a luring one.

Or maybe they all joined my family six feet under.

So I stop with my silly thoughts and try to end the daydream. Because I left that life behind.

The innocent, naïve persona that I radiated is buried. Stuffed under the years of collected trauma and emotional baggage. It’s lost, but will it ever be truly forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, I found this in my drafts and was shocked at how good this sounded to me. I remember writing this after Carl died, but nothing ever came of it. I intended this is be an old childhood friend to lovers where they found each other after the outbreak. Should I start writing this again?


End file.
